The Moving Truck

It was already too late. The words were out of my mouth. No matter how much I wanted to take them back the damage was already done.

“Are you serious?”

My friend was about to jump me. The conflict was unavoidable now. My poorly chosen words would lead to pain.

“Wow! You really want to help us move?”

I am talking about the kind of pain that comes when you spend an entire Saturday lifting heavy objects.

You’d think I’d be an expert on this subject. In 13 years I’ve lived in six states, five houses, three apartments, two townhomes, a couple of condos, one duplex and even in a renovated 1920’s era grocery store. On average I have changed addresses once every 11 months- and yet I am horrible when it comes to moving.

 

 

Packing a truck requires a certain talent. That is especially true when you’re making a long distance trek. My friend was about to move 15 hundred miles from Wilmington, North Carolina to the middle of the country. A journey like that requires a lot of planning. You need to be a visionary. Long before the first box is loaded your mind has to turn an empty space, 23 feet long by 8 feet wide, into a storage unit big enough to fit your entire life.

Luckily, my friend knows how to use every square inch of space. To him a moving truck is one giant jigsaw puzzle. He mastered a technique to stack boxes from floor to ceiling. When the gap become too narrow- he always  found room for some thing else to fill the void; a rolled up rug, unpacked pillows or blankets, jackets that wouldn’t be needed until he arrived at his new home.

Each of the bigger items: the sofa, the bed, the dresser- were gently turned into vessels for other things.  After carrying in a bookshelf my friend instantly started filling it with possessions. The dinner table was placed just like it was standing in the kitchen; its surface was then used as a foundation to stack more boxes. Even the more awkwardly shaped objects like the lawn mower, ceiling fans and golf clubs always had the perfect place waiting for their arrival the very moment they were carried inside.

The moving van became a testament to forethought; a shrine to the art of having a well designed plan and the endurance to execute it perfectly. All of it matches the very nature of my friend’s character. He lives his life the same way he packs a truck. He is, in short, a man with a plan.

From the moment he picked his career things have gone- more or less- the way they were supposed too. One precisely taken, intricate, step on the corporate ladder was always followed by another. The journey keeps moving forward (or upward) and his view gets more spacious with each step along the way.

The irony of it all, as I watched him in action; turning, rotating, negotiating even twisting boxes in places they had no business going; I realized that life rarely is like a moving truck. No matter how much preparation we do, sometimes things just don’t go as planned. All the pivoting and bending in the world- and you still can’t make everything fit.

The truth is my friend never wanted to leave Wilmington. When he moved here a few years ago it was with the hopes of establishing roots. This is where he was going to buy a house, find a church and become part of a community. His job was secure. So was his wife’s. Their future was promising. There was talk of promotions, raises and yes- maybe one day there’d even be a baby.

It just didn’t work that way.

Wilmington probably started going wrong for my friend earlier then he’d care to admit. He rented a nice home, but it was so far out of town that he had to endure an hour commute. When he arrived at work he often found not just genuine disagreements, but that his personality sometimes clashed with others.

As our Saturday went on, every so often in our conversation, my friend expressed pain and anger. A new job was waiting for him and yet he couldn’t quite let go of the one he had already quit. He wanted to talk about the way things should have been- if only it weren’t for a few unresolved issues

 And yet I knew (and he knowa this too) that  just because things don’t go according to out plan that doesn’t mean they don’t go exactly the way God has planned them.

You see, while my friend was dealing with all this change, his mother-in-law had concerns of her own. She was diagnosed with cancer. Coincidently my friend’s new job is only a few hours away from his wife’s hometown. If they left late tonight, and took two days to get there, they would literally be pulling up just as chemotherapy treatments were starting.  

No, things didn’t go the way they were planned, not for my friend and certainly not for his in-laws. And yet a daughter being there to help her mother just seems to fit perfectly.

When the truck was finally loaded, and after we said our goodbyes, watching my friend drive away it became impossible not to smile.  Yes he was leaving a place he wanted to stay, but I knew he was going exactly where he was supposed to be.   

 

I was Wrong

This doesn’t happen often; today I have to admit I was wrong. Yes, getting things wrong is an all too frequent occurrence. Admitting it, on the other, is a very rare occasion.

 Last week, in this blog, I made the point that technology has gotten in the way of person to person contact. As part of that essay I talked about the social websites like My Space and Facebook and argued they only gave us the illusion that we are in keeping in touch; “It’s like we’ve figured out how to talk without really communicating.”

Truth is I made that observation based on second hand knowledge. You see, even though many friends encouraged me to sign up, I’ve resisted. To me there is something about a man in his mid thirties trolling one of those sites that’s kind of….you know… creepy.

So, after last week’s essay, really more to the fact after friends started accusing me of being a hypocrite, I broke down and became a member.

I started with one of my best friends here in town. Her selection didn’t make much sense. The two of us talk on the phone several times a day. What was I going to say to her online that I couldn’t say to her in conversation? I still haven’t answered that question but she was the first.

Michele was next. She’s one of my closest friends although we haven’t seen each other in years. For a while now she’s been telling me about Arthur. She goes on and on about this wonderful man who captured her heart. And now suddenly, thanks to technology, I can see him. He’s featured in many of the pictures on her website. The two really do make a cute couple.

My attention was suddenly diverted to the right had side of the computer. Out of no where a picture of Gretchen popped up. She was smiling at me under the headline “People You May Know.” Well, of course I know Gretchen. With a simple drag and a click of the mouse, the two of us had become friends again.

Nell popped up next, then Avery, then Monica, then Sue. It was like the computer was magically putting together a maze of my past. One by one I was being reunited with people from high school, college and in all the cities and states I’ve called home during my career. Even though these were very good friends, and people who still hold a special place in my heart, it was like time and distance had relegated them to playing just a cameo, the role of an extra- someone who was in one scene but not the next.

 Until this week, in my mind, these people were exactly the way I left them. They weren’t allowed to grow up or to age. Some where stuck in their teenage years, others were still attending fraternity parties. And they all still look good. No one had receding hairlines or faces that were covered by wrinkles.

In a way keeping them in the past was nice. It allowed me to hold on to my youth. And yet it’s really impossible for your own life to move on until you allow others to grow.

And so they have.

Lanier has done very well for herself. In my mind she is still an intern learning the ropes. In reality she is now a press secretary for a United States Senator. Her Facebook page is filled with pictures of the rich and famous.

 Todd is now a family man. Who would have thought? I wonder if he’s going to teach his kids the same lesson he once taught me in high school; the proper way to knock down a mail box with your car. The two of us exchanged notes and relived that story, along with a number of other stupid stunts we pulled. It’s amazing we graduated without ever being arrested.

The online exchange with Melissa lead to a long phone conversation. She was a good friend in college. She is now the mother of two. Her oldest son is autistic. It was clear by the way she talked that the diagnosis has been a blessing. It’s provided her life with a certain purpose. She now volunteers as an advocate and helps other parents make sure their autistic children get the proper care and attention. Had I not found Melissa I would have lost the inspiration of what her life has become.

It’s good, really good to hear that Jim is doing well. He’s the only colleague of my mine in Louisiana whose home was destroyed in Hurricane Katrina. When I left the state, a few months after the storm, his family was still living in a motel. This will sound horrible but sadly it’s true, in the past three years I haven’t given much thought on how things were going for him. This week I did. “They are finally back to normal.” He told me in a note written on Friday. In my absence Jim has managed to rebuild a home and also his entire life.

Oh I realize the truth about these websites. Yes they can reconnect you with people but only to a point. Just because one locates some old friends doesn’t mean that those people will reclaim a starring role. And that’s okay.  Indeed it’s how it’s supposed to be. You see keeping in touch cannot be about reliving the past. Instead it’s about making sure that the people we once- and still do- care about, don’t totally fade to black.

Unanswered Phone Calls

It’s been a while since I talked to Sarah. A few months have gone by since she left Wilmington and moved to Albuquerque. As my fingers searched for her number, under the Contact section of my cell phone, I thought about all the catching up we’d have to do. Not only has a lot changed in her absences, but she was now living in my former hometown and working at my old station.

Waiting for the call to go through, I started to wonder if she liked her new job. Had she met Bill yet? What did she think of working with Mark on the morning show? Has Paul invited her to the Press Club and bought her a beer?

There was plenty to find out but suddenly there was another question on my mind; “What was that noise?”

It’s hard to explain but each ring on the other end was immediately followed by a long beep. “Ring-beeeeep! Ring-beeeeeep!” The sound totally threw me off. The first couple of times I actually checked the face of my phone to see if someone was waiting on the other line. No one was there.

You know what it was? That sound didn’t indicate that I had another call. Instead it was informing me that Sarah had another call. She was already chatting away with somebody else, probably one of her new friends. Frankly I didn’t need that information!

What happened next bothered me the most- really got under my skin. Sarah must have looked at my name on the caller i.d. and made a split second decision to send me to the wasteland that is voice mail.  Isn’t technology great! It’s now clear when people are screening their calls! We now know when we didn’t make the cut.

Now, as much as I’d like to spend the rest of this essay talking about the pain that accompianed the rejection and the humiliation that came along with the shaft…that’s really not today’s topic. Although, one day I will probably be discussing that with a therapist. Instead, for now, I want to talk about how electronics have more or less ruined our lives

Bringing people closer together probably was never the main goal of advancement but once upon a time technology had the side effect of making the world a smaller place to live. That was certainly the case with the airplane; suddenly the entire globe became accessible. The phone allowed you to stay connected with long distant relatives and friends, provided you were willing to reach out and touch someone. The television, yes even the television, allowed people to have one shared experience regardless of where they were; remember the days when two coworkers could meet at the water cooler and discuss last night’s episode of Seinfeld?

All that’s changed. Something went wrong. I think things just got carried away? Eventually technology advanced so much that it was no longer possible to get away and escape; the cell phone, the pager, the laptop kept us connected in even the most remote area- even when we didn’t necessarily want to be in touch.

And so we’ve rebelled.

If you think about it, all recent inventions have had nothing to do with brining people closer together- in fact they’ve almost been entirely about helping us avoid human interaction. It’s like the inventor’s goal is to make our lives simpler by just eliminating those intrusions and interruptions created by others. So much for love they neighbor.

Every Friday morning I have the same conversation with a woman who sits about 10 feet away. “Hey, did you see the Office last night?” I’ll ask hoping the two of us can share in some of the jokes and laughter. The problem is this season my plan has backfired.”

“No!No!No! No! Don’t tell me anything about it! “my coworker demands of me. “ I TiVoed it. I am not watching it until this weekend.”

 By the time she actually gets around to seeing the episode, I’ve long since forgotten all about it. Technology has taken away the water cooler.

Last night, after work, I was on an elliptical machine at the gym. Striding along side of me, just a few inches away, was a woman in her 50’s. We were both wearing headphones. She was plugged in to an IPod. I was listening to a small, personalized, television set hooked up to the machine. The two of us spent almost an hour looking straight ahead never once making eye contact. Occasionally our arms would brush up against each other in midstride. We were close to touch without ever reaching out to each other. Technology has taken away my ability to make polite small talk with strangers.

Oh, I know what some of you will say. You’ll defend the advancements and tell me that we are actually more connected than ever before. You may point to social websites like My Space or Facebook as examples of how old friends are staying in touch and continuing to share their lives.

Frankly I don’t buy it. We used to write long letters to old friends, and then that became a few paragraphs in an email. Which turned into a sentence or two in an instant message, finally it all to morphed into even smaller, totally made up language created  by the art of texting.    

Yeah, the social websites allow people to share, but I think they only give us the illusion that we’re still connected. Look at what people write on such pages; “Hey you’re looking good.” “Your kids are so cute.” “What’s up homey?” It’s like we’ve figured out how to talk without really communicating.

It’s time for me to unplug. I am going to make some changes. I’m going to stop using my cell phone at the check out counter. I am never going to wear headphones in public-maybe it’s possible that what the person next to me has to say is far more worthy of hearing. No longer will I send an email to someone who works only a few feet away- If the message is that important I can tell them in person.

I am going to be a new man. And I am starting with this incoming call.

 Hey, look: it’s Sarah. Sure a part of me wants to pay her back and let her go to voice mail…but then again we have a lot of catching up to do.   

Four Square

Have you ever played Four Square?

Back in elementary school there was a Four Square court painted on the blacktop of our playground, but I don’t remember anyone ever using it. We were too busy with pick up football, chasing the girls or hanging out around the jungle gym. It seems to me we also had a hop scotch area, but no one ever used that either.

If you’re not familiar with the game then let me explain it. Four Square is kind of a mix between tennis and dodge ball. It is actually played in one big square which is subdivided into four separate sections. One person physically stands in each of those areas, defending his zone against a bouncing rubber ball that has been hit in his direction by the other players.

Don’t be fooled, I am hardly an expert on the game. I’ve only played it once and that was just a few weeks ago.

The competition took place at a gathering for Christian men. You see, most of the guys in my church belong to a small group, made up of no more than a dozen or so members. Typically each group meets once a week.  The first few gatherings are awkward but over time a bond starts to form.  These are the guys who you call during good times and bad. It is more than just faith, what you’re really sharing is fellowship.

A couple of times a year all the men, in all the small groups, get together for one huge extravaganza. We order in food like ribs or hot wings that you have to eat with your hands- that’s a very male thing to do.  We challenge each other to meaningless battles where our pride is put on the line. That too is a very male thing to do.

On this particular night a variety of tournaments were going on all at once. In one area people were challenging each other in air hockey, in another Fossball was the main activity. Ping pong, darts and Guitar Hero competitions were taking up the rest of the space.  Oh and don’t forget there were those of us on the four square court.

Each of the games worked on the premise that the winners got to play on. Meanwhile the losers were forced to exit and endure a long wait before they got a chance at redemption.

 Only a handful of us were playing Four Square. So, even if when you lost, things rotated back to you very quickly. The turnover gave you a chance to learn the ropes. You soon realized that this wasn’t a game of luck, but that there was in fact strategy- not to mention technique- involved.

 A scouting report on each of your opponents started to take form. Bob had a weak backhand. Todd, who recently underwent knee surgery, had troubles with the low shots. Eric was good- really good- he some how managed put backspin on the ball. At 6 foot three John had great reach, but he was awkward and often times off balance- if you got him crisscrossed you could probably score a point.

You ever see that episode of the Twilight Zone where a group of senior citizens recapture their youths by playing Kick the Can? That’s kind of what the evening for this group of middle aged men. Something about this grade school game just brought out the best in all of us. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that no one really cared about the outcome. 

Our excitement started to attract other men to the court.  The line was growing. A massive evacuation of the air hockey and Foosball tables were underway and the word was quickly spreading to the other areas. The evicted loser now had thirty, maybe forty plus guys, in front of him.

The crowd added a new dimension to the game. When you finally got back into the court there was now a certain sense of nervousness. Suddenly it felt like you were performing.

Though, many in number, the spectators stated to speak with a collective voice. An exceptional play was cheered. A foolish miss was groaned or moaned over. When Don was hit in the head with a misdirected ball, at such force that his glasses went flying to the other side of the room, the proverbial hush fell over the crowd. Moments later everyone was cheering again when it became apparent that Don was okay.  Technically he was out, but out of respect for his valor- and his glasses- the crowd let him play the next serve.

The bigger it got the better it got. That is, until….

“Hey! Hey! Hey,” one of the guys in line was yelling and pointing at one of the players on the court, “You palmed the ball. You just palmed the ball! You can’t do that! That’s an illegal hit!”

Who knows? The self appointed referee was probably right. To be sure Four Square, like all games, has rules. Unfortunately for us, this guy just happened to be an expert on them. He was young, brash, a college kid (probably going to school on a Four Square scholarship). To him Four Square mattered and to play it any other way than the right way- than his way- would be a sin.

“You got to be kidding me,” the accused player was trying to make his defense. “This is just a game.”

If Four Square operated under majority rule there’d be no doubt who would’ve won the debate. None of us waiting to play cared about the infraction- if it indeed it was an infraction. And yet the finger pointer spoke with such conviction and apparent knowledge that that the guilty party took his illegal palms and went to the back of the line

There has to be a difference between the spirit of the law and the letter of the law. Some just don’t understand that. They value rules more than what is really necessary. Sometimes the sticklers are advocating for the integrity of their cause but more often they are really just trying to prove their superiority. It is as if the rules exist just to make them- at long last- an authority on something. 

The Bible talks about this very thing. Several places in the Gospels Jesus choose to perform miracles of healing on the Sabbath. This enrages the religious sticklers, the Pharisees, who believed in the letter of the law. To them any work, even healing someone in pain, violated the rules.

 Once when healing a man with a mangled hand Jesus asked the crowd “which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil?”

Back on the Four Square Court, the finger pointer probably never thought of his actions as being evil, but they clearly had a negative effect. Once the fowl was called the entire atmosphere changed. The game went on- but now it seemed like  everyone was taking it far more seriously. Now it was far more intense. It seemed like people really wanted to win- at all costs.

Soon arguments were starting over whether a particular shot was in or out. Players were accused of colluding with each other in attempts to go after the strongest competitor. Trash talk- yes, trash talk was being thrown about; “You think you can handle this serve old man? Not in my house! Not in my house!”

People kept rotating in and out. Winners quickly became losers. Losers quickly became spectators. Spectators quickly became the people to beat- until they were eventually defeated. The more the cycle went on and on the more foolish our behavior appeared to be.  With the same collective voice we had once cheered with- as a group we all decided to call it quits.

As we all walked off in separate directions I couldn’t help but wonder about the impact this game had on our evening. Did it bring us closer or did it pull us apart. At the start of the night few of us had ever played this game before- and at the end of the night- because of the way things got out of hand- I doubted few of us would ever play it again. 

 

 

 

 

Then, Now and Later

Several months ago it occurred to me that I may never get married. Looking back it’s impossible to say where that realization came from but all-in-all it didn’t really bother me.

 Until, that is, I started to think about the future. Suddenly I was suffering from the fear of what could only be described as eventual loneliness. I am okay for now, but who wants to be alone when they’re 50, 60, 70 or 80 years old?

I needed a plan.

At least that is how my mind works. If something starts bothering me I just try to think my way out of it. If- after all- fate and destiny were going to place me in a position to be alone- I would just design a way to live without be lonely.

What would that look like?

With pen and paper in hand I started to write out a vision of my single future.  What would I want to do? How would I keep busy? There was always travel- plenty of places to go and see. My hand started to make a list; Ireland, China, France….and that’s when things came to a screeching halt.  The paper was instantly crumbled and tossed away. The project had come to a premature end.

You see, the problem was really two fold. First, who wants to travel all by themselves? Where’s the fun in that? Writing out the list of countries this image of standing in front of the Eiffel Tower appeared in my mind.  My arm was stretched out as far as it could go. My hand was holding a digital camera trying to capture a photograph of myself. Gosh, that seemed so horrible!

Even worse was the realization that I was committing a sin that has plagued my life for years.  Oh, I know I’m not alone. A lot of people have this problem. At the risk of sounding sexiest, it’s been my experience that men tend to struggle with this far more than women. I am speaking of the inability to live in the now.

Many of us are to busy trying to live in the future. We convince ourselves that we alone- not God- have the power to determine how events will shape up. If we come up with the right plan, dedicate ourselves, work hard enough, give it all we have- then we follow the fallacy that we really can control our destiny. To those of us who struggle with this line of thinking the future holds the key to happiness. The years ahead will lack the kinks and shortcomings that get in our way now.

There is an obvious problem with this line of thinking. As long as you live in the future then the future never becomes the present. You’ll never arrive. Your happiness is always around the corner, a flip or two of the calendar ahead.

Others prefer to live in the past. On the surface, since one knows how it all works out, this seems like a safer option. And yet these are some of the saddest people you will ever meet- even if they are remembering their happiest  days.

  Go into a bar, a watering hole, and chances are you’ll see a person who’s stuck decades behind. It won’t take much before they start telling you about that million dollar sale they once pulled down, or that catch in the high school football championship that sealed the game, or all the women they’ve known. It doesn’t matter when the stories took place, how many years have passed, or even if there true, you will hear them with such detail that it’ll sound- almost- like it all took place the day before.

The tragedy here, for these people, is that life is all behind them. The older they get the further they’re removed from all the glory. No matter how well the stories are told the memories become more and more of a shell game. One is left to wonder if what they longing for ever really existed- ever really happened- in the first place.

I don’t know how to live in the now. I really don’t. And if there was one thing I could change about myself it’d be that deficiency.

All of this was on my mind last night. It seemed like a good topic for New Year’s Eve.  I am not someone who makes resolutions- but change does seem easier to embrace on December 31st.

 No longer am I going to invest time on years from now. This year I am going to invest it on the now. I don’t have to wait to be the person I going to become- in 2009 I ‘m simply going to try being him

It’s all getting underway in the morning. Like 5am! This year- Saturday and Sunday’s excluded; I am going to get out of bed early. No more snooze alarms. Who knows what I am going to do with those extra hours, haven’t figured that part out yet,  but those who I admire the most are all morning people- and in 2009 I am going to convert and join their ranks.

Being funny is no longer going to be a priority for me. You see, too often in 2008, and in the years before, the laughter came at someone else’s expense.  This year any witty, cutting remarks, delivered with impeccable timing will be the result of self deprecating humor.  God knows my life provides plenty of material that I really don’t need to look anywhere else

I am going to be more generous this year. Specifically I mean with money. I’ve always wanted to be a giver, but put it off because…well…money doesn’t grow on trees. Maybe the most generous of people are those who have to budget their gifts.

I want to entertain more in 2009. Some of you will be getting invitations to come over for dinner parties or to play cards. Of course to do this I am going to have to keep the place neat, so this year I am really going to embrace cleanliness too.

I just found out yesterday, through the grapevine, that Bobby Burkhart got engaged. I’ve known him since we were four years old, but haven’t talked to him in years. I am going to write him a letter of congratulations. You see this year, whether through letter, email or phone call- I am going to make it a point to reach out to old friends and to bring them back into my life.

And I am going to make it another point to make new friends. Right now those who are in my life either work with me or attend the same church. Wilmington is a big community and a growing city- and I need to reach out here too.

I am sure during certain moments I will still think about the future, still plan for it- come up with places in this world I want to go…and perhaps that’s all okay. The difference is I am not going to put off living until I get there.

This year- somehow, some way- against every knee-jerk reaction and fiber in my bone, I am finally going to be in the now.

Happy New Year